


Acknowledgements

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [45]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, DWMP verse, M/M, Nonmonogamous Relationship, Your otp is not monogamous, do middle aged academics require a content warning; probably, oh wait I get to use one of my fave tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: Finrod and Curufin might be committed, but they're never going to be conventional.
Relationships: Barahir (First Age)/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Curufin | Curufinwë/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto
Series: Punching out my dancelines [45]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/148653
Comments: 24
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These were written literally fourscore and seven years ago on Tumblr, but I've put them up here by request since my Tumblr settings have changed and it's not as easy to access anymore. I was at one point going to transfer all tumblrfic over here but I'm lazy and never got to it, especially with the really short stuff. If you do have a particular fic of mine you'd like to see on the archive, hit me up and I'll see what I can do!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finrod and Curufin have a happy arrangement. This does not mean Curufin restrains himself from trolling Finrod's dates. He's nonmonogamous, he's not DEAD.

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Barahir, locating his boxer shorts under the pillow and pushing them discreetly over the side of the bed, “I’m not complaining or anything, because that was amazing, but I could have sworn you were married.”

“Not married,” said Finrod, propping his head on his hand and twitching the sheet over his hips. “Been to some lovely weddings, never been the marrying type.”

The look of relief on Barahir’s face was, Finrod noted, very similar to the one Curufin had worn when Finrod had told him the same thing.

"I do have a partner,” Finrod added, for the sake of full-disclosure and because Barahir, however much he had insisted a one-night stand was exactly what he was looking for, had a certain look in his eyes. “A partner in non-marriage, whom I love very much, and who - ”

“Is going to gut me like a salmon when he finds out I’ve slept with you?” Barahir was looking anxious again.

“Why would I do that?” said a cool voice from the doorway. “It would ruin the very expensive sheets I got him for his last birthday.”

“Curvo!” exclaimed Finrod, sitting up. Barahir, less adroit and more surprised, simply fell out of bed. “ _Boundaries._ I told you, I wasn’t going to be free until 4, come back with the manuscript then!”

But Curufin, propped in the doorway, was chuckling. “He’s a bit young,” he said, studying Barahir as Barahir located and lost his boxer shorts again. “Dark haired and grey-eyed though, goodness, should I be flattered?”

Finrod threw a pillow at him and he ducked out of the doorway, still laughing. “You know where to find me when you’re done - tell him I’ve never gutted a fish in my life, by the way, just a squirrel once.”

“I’m very sorry,” said Finrod, when they had heard the click of the front door, and Barahir was sitting shell-shocked and naked on the floor. “We really do have a well-communicated, clearly dictated, committed and non-monogamous relationship, and he really doesn’t have a problem with you, he just has a wicked sense of humor and a horrific sense of timing.”

“I can see why you like him,” said Barahir faintly. “He sounds like a catch.”

Finrod helped him to his feet. “Can I get you breakfast? Coffee?” He brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “Alcohol? Trauma counseling?”

“Another date, maybe,” said Barahir, glancing at Finrod from beneath his eyelashes. “If your husb - partn - he really wouldn’t mind.”

“Just have him back by four,” came a voice from the living room, causing Barahir to lose his balance again. “And remind him if he doesn’t respond to my edits I am going to have to tie him to a chair until he reads them all.” 

“Get thee gone,” called Finrod. “For heaven’s sake.” As he put on a bathrobe and shut the door very firmly, there came a dramatic sigh from without and a receding voice. 

“Mind you, he quite likes the chair thing, so it backfires as punishment.”

“I’ll take that alcohol you mentioned now,” said Barahir, and Finrod tied the sash to his bathrobe and smiled. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coauthors who cohabitate might kill each other; couples who understand this make living arrangements accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place some years after Chapter 1

Curufin’s apartment was as it almost always was when Finrod visited - stark, impeccably tidy, and a little too warm. Not helping the problem was Celebrimbor, whose vents were whirring happily in the corner as he charged.

Curufin already had the coffee brewing, and he didn’t look up from the mugs when Finrod came in, using his key to open the door. Handel was playing, and Finrod knew it was for his benefit - Curufin preferred silence, except when his tinnitus was acting up.

“I brought you the proofs of the latest,” Finrod said, slipping off his shoes and dropping down into his favorite armchair, the one by the window. “Our editor wants the acknowledgments by Thursday, and she says the introduction is a page shy.”

“You do the acknowledgments, I’ll do the introduction,” said Curufin, who never acknowledged anyone in any of their books anyway. “I thought of a couple more things I wanted to say on machine learning.”

Finrod glanced at Celebrimbor reflexively, but Curufin shook his head. “He’s rebooting.”

Curufin came over with the two mugs of coffee and glanced at Finrod as he set them down, his eyes flickering over Finrod from crown to toe. “You’re far too old to have let your hair get that long,” he said, and Finrod laughed.

His hair had gone grey - silver, really - quite young, but it had never thinned, and he enjoyed making a show of sweeping it out of his eyes. “I’m getting a haircut next week,” he said. “I can’t have you thinking me shaggy.”

“Or any of your young men,” murmured Curufin. “What would - who’s his face - Barahir say?”

Finrod pushed his glasses up his forehead to hold his hair out of his eyes and looked fondly at Curufin. “My dear, Barahir hasn’t been in the picture for _years_ now. Surely you remember that.”

“Hmph,” said Curufin, but he looked pleased, Finrod thought. “I can never keep track of your innamorati.”

Finrod shrugged. “It’s easy to count to one, these days,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss Curufin’s cheek. He pulled back to enjoy the color that he could still make show faintly on Curufin’s skin, and then ran a finger against the crow’s feet by his eyes. Curufin’s hair was still raven dark, but like Feanor’s had, it was retreating, leaving his forehead higher and paler than ever. “You’re looking thin,” Finrod said, observing the narrow lines of Curufin’s slightly bowed shoulders - bent by decades of computer work - beneath his sweater. “Are you feeding yourself?”

“I’ve had a project,” said Curufin, shrugging. “But it’s done now, and I can return to mundanities like food.” He caught the expression on Finrod’s face and rolled his eyes. “Don’t fret, you old hen. Ro has been over twice this week with casseroles while I’ve been helping him with his thesis work.”

“So _that’s_ why your books are out of order,” said Finrod, who had noticed the shelf at once on coming in. 

“I like to pull ones he might like ahead of time.”

“You are the most appalling player of favorites,” said Finrod, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Do your other nieces and nephews know you can be so soft?”

Curufin pulled a face at him and smoothed down the front of his jumper in lieu of answering. “I thought you would have been smug at me by now,” he said. “Considering I’m wearing your gift.”

Finrod took a sip of his coffee. “Oh, as if you don’t pull that out only when you know I’m coming over.” But by the wear on the sleeves and hem, and the slight matting of the wool, he knew it wasn’t so. He caught Curufin’s hand up again and kissed the fingers, the bony knuckles. 

“May I spend the night?” he asked softly, just as Curufin said, “You’ll stay tonight, won’t you?”

They looked up into each other’s eyes. 

Finrod smiled. Curufin frowned.

Finrod stayed. 


End file.
